Curses!

by J. A. Kazimer

  Nothing fazed me.

  Except ... a naked Prince Idiot admiring his butt in front of Cinderella’s full-length mirror. I shuddered and limped faster down the hallway.

  Chapter 31

  The icy water of the shower pounded my bruised body, stinging in places I only dreamed existed. Who knew the skin on your elbow could hurt? The stench of smoke and singed villain faded under the sweet scent of lilac soap. I scrubbed my hair twice, watching a swirl of ash disappear down the drain. When I couldn’t take the chill a second longer, I turned off the water and reached for a towel.

  “Thanks,” I murmured to the towel rack.

  “You’re welcome,” Dru uttered back.

  “Ahhhh!” I shouted, admittedly in Dru’s ugly face. She recoiled, nearly tripping over her feet as she jumped back. I reached out to steady her, my towel dropping as I did so, showing off an array of freshly singed pubic hair. Not my best look. Didn’t anyone in this palace know how to knock?

  “Sorry,” I said, releasing her and scooping the towel back into place. “You startled me.”

  “I brought you some clothes.” She motioned to a pair of Levi’s and a black sweatshirt, freshly pressed and smelling of urinal cakes, sitting on the vanity. A pair of white boxer briefs lay on top next to my empty, charred wallet.

  “Ummm ... thanks,” I ventured again. “I’ll just be getting dressed, then ...” Dru stood there, not getting the hint, a clueless smile on her lips. I tried again. “Did you need something?”

  She shook her head.

  “Go wait in the hall,” I ordered, shoving her toward the door with one hand.

  “Good idea.” She nodded as if I’d solved a great mystery. For the briefest of seconds, I felt sorry for Prince Rotten. He went from fiancée perfection in the form of Asia to the moronic Dru in a matter of six months. One fiancée dead, one a possible murder suspect, and the other quite possibly a moron. Bad odds even in Cin City.

  My sympathy for His Annoyingness was short-lived, however, replaced by an all-consuming rage. Was that a hickey on my shoulder blade? I spun around to check and slipped on the puddle of water at my feet. My head smacked the sink and little bluebirds rose in my vision.

  It took me a few seconds to realize the bluebirds were real and invading the bathroom via an open window. A window that was closed when I first entered the shower. Did Dru open it? Was this another assassination attempt by Asia?

  I scrambled to my feet, yanking the shower curtain from the rod with a whoosh. My fingers slipped on the wet curtain, but I held tight, using it like a matador’s cape as I shepherded the annoyed birds to the open window. “Toro! Toro!” I shouted, sweeping the birds outside.

  “Did you call me?” Dru poked her head inside the door only to be bombarded with a flock of rampaging bluebirds. Her shrieks reverberated around the bathroom, deafening me. I dropped the shower curtain and stuffed my hands over my ears.

  “Stop it,” I yelled.

  She did, but only when her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted. I tried to catch her before she hit the ground, but again, I slipped, landing naked and facedown on the tile. The unconscious princess fell on top of me, her lips parted, her face flushed. I grunted under her weight. Of course, Winslow appeared in the doorway at that precise moment. His upper lip started to quiver.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I said. The understatement of the year. Winslow wasn’t paying me any attention, though. His gaze was fixed on his not-so-smart princess.

  “What did you do to her?” he asked, his voice thick with tears and accusations. “My poor sweet maiden.”

  “Nothing.” I lifted an unconscious Dru off me, placed her on the floor, and staggered to my feet. “The bluebirds”—I gestured to the now bluebird free bathroom—“they came in ... Dru ... she—”

  “The king shall hear of your debauchery!” Winslow raised his fist. As far as threats went, it wasn’t the best one. What would the king do? The man couldn’t even kill his wife.

  I held up my own hand. “Relax, Winslow. Nothing happened. Dru is still as pure and stupid as snow.” And she’d stay that way if she married Charming. Talk about a waste of a wedding night.

  Winslow frowned, as if unsure what to believe, his own eyes on my naked, hickey-riddled body. Dru made the decision for him. She awoke, her eyes fluttering like a fly stuck to a wad of flypaper, or in her case, a huge furry eyebrow.

  “What happened?” she asked Winslow.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” He knelt down next to her, fanning her face with his hand. “Shall I summon the king’s physician?”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary.” She took Winslow’s hand and he helped her to her feet. “I must’ve fainted. Too much excitement. You know, with the wedding and all,” she said, sounding forlorn.

  My eyes went to hers. Did Dru really want to marry Charming? Third Maledetto sister’s a charm, right? Up until a second ago, I was sure Dru wanted to marry the idiot prince, but now ... I cleared my throat to gain Winslow’s attention. He glanced up in question. I nodded to Dru. “Right. The wedding. How are the wedding plans going?”

  Dru sighed. “Charming is handling everything.”

  Of course he was. He’d probably dreamed of his wedding day since he was a wee lad in lace diapers. He’d probably already picked out the perfect dress. I tilted my head to the side. “Is that what you want, Dru? A man who handles you?”

  Dru’s lips curved into a frown, causing her furry brow to wrinkle even deeper. “I used to think so.”

  “But?”

  “But,” she paused, her face growing red, “I want roses! Red ones. And a chocolate fountain! I want ... I want ...”

  “Yes?” Winslow asked, hope filling his tone for the first time.

  “A pony!”

  “And you deserve a pony.” I nodded encouragingly. “Okay, then. Go out there and tell the prince exactly that. Tell him that unless you get roses, a chocolate fountain, and a pony you won’t marry him!”

  “Damn straight!” Dru nodded to a shocked Winslow and marched out of the bathroom in search of her Prince Charming.

  Winslow looked at me and grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I patted his shoulder. “Just remember, though, when you and Dru finally do hook up, you’d better buy a pony-sized litter box.”

  He agreed and turned on his heel to follow Dru down the hall. Her shouts for the suddenly hard-to-find prince echoed from three floors below.

  Served Prince Rotten right. That would show him not to give unexpected / unwanted hickeys to random houseguests. I rubbed at the hickey on my shoulder. A smudge of cocoa flaked away under the pressure of my thumb. Oops.

  I laughed, pulling on a pair of pants, and headed down the stairs to restart my investigation into Cinderella’s murder.

  My investigation took me to the far corners of the Maledetto palace, namely, the library. I opened the double doors, surprised to see that nothing had changed since my last visit. The room still smelled of dog hair and dust. Nigel de Wolfe’s pelt still lay on the floor, eyes blank, teeth as sharp as ever.

  Stepping inside the library, I crept across the carpet and knelt next to Nigel’s pelt. The wolf appeared dead, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I jabbed my finger into Nigel’s left eye. When nothing happened I proceeded to examine my scene of the crime.

  First, I turned the pelt over and opened his striped housecoat. Poor old Nigel had a slit cut from his sternum to pelvis. Talk about being neutered. With my hands, I measured the dimensions of the pelt. A full-grown person might fit inside.

  A skinny full-grown person.

  I decided to test my theory and shoved my head inside the fur coat. The pelt fit like the kitten’s mitten, in that whoever had worn it to buy Gretel the bluebird had gotten away with murder too. But not for long. I would find him, her, or them, and once I did ... well, I’d cross that troll bridge when I came to it.

  I stood staggering under the weight of the pelt before rightin
g myself. The fur smelled faintly of bacon. That reminded me that I hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. My stomach let out a ferocious growl.

  Boom!

  A splatter of buckshot slammed into Nigel’s pelt, knocking me backward. “Ahhhh!” I yelped. In hindsight, it sounded more like a growl, which explained the next volley of shotgun pellets. My wolf-proof armor stopped most of the shrapnel, but a few bits sliced through, flaying my flesh beneath. The rock salt pellets burned like trying to pee after a one-night stand with Snow White.

  “You lecherous bastard. I’ll show you,” my would-be assassin the king said. The click of another round of salt loaded into a shotgun reverberated around the room.

  “Stop,” I said. “Winslow lied. I didn’t touch Dru. She came into the bathroom while I was naked, and she fainted. That’s all that happened. I swear I didn’t touch her.” When I found the turncoat butler, I’d sure as hell touch him. A lot!

  “What?” the king shouted.

  I poked my head out. “What, what?”

  “Oh, it’s you,” the king exclaimed, his hand clutching his heart. “You scared me, son. I thought Nigel had risen from the dead to take his revenge against me for shoo—” The king’s hand flew to his mouth. “I mean ... What’s this about Dru?”

  “Not important now.” I waved my hand in dismissal. “What’s this about revenge?”

  The king let out a loud, drawn-out sigh. “Well, son, since you’re almost family, I can tell you a thing or two about the Maledetto history.” Son? Family? I had my doubts the old man even remembered my name. Not that I wanted anything to do with the king or the rest of his crazy clan, with the exception of Asia and her murderous, naked ways. I had my own family to deal with; I didn’t need to add the Maledetto lunatics to the genetic mix.

  The king continued, ignoring the look of absolute horror on my face, “You see, son, I never expected to be king. My parents died when I was a wee lad.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Why?” The king frowned and patted his shotgun. “Did you kill them?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why did you claim you did? It’s rude.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” The king shook his head. “As I was saying before you interrupted, King de Wolfe took me in and raised me as his own second son. Nigel, my big brother, was to wear this crown.” The king pointed to his empty head.

  “Um, sir?” I said.

  “What now?!”

  I considered not saying a word, but my cursed tongue won out. “You’re not wearing a crown.”

  “Blast it,” he said, dropping his shotgun onto the couch, and ran from the room in search of his wayward crown. I closed my eyes and shook my head. How did Asia stand her family? Either they were the dumbest group of people in the universe, or somewhere in the tangled roots of this family tree, brother and sister fell in love. I was betting on incest. Stupidity seemed like too much of a coincidence.

  I picked up the king’s abandoned shotgun, unloaded it, and kicked it under the couch. Didn’t these people know guns were dangerous? Hell, in the last week I’d been shot at least twice.

  I rubbed at my latest flesh wound on my arm. Blood trickled from the cut. I wiped it away with the edge of Nigel’s pelt and sighed. I couldn’t wait to leave Maledetto once and for all, with Asia of course, and never look back. Not even around the holidays. If Asia got homesick, I’d simply jam a shotgun in her face and talk like a homeless dude with a tinfoil cap.

  The king came flying back into the library, a jewel-encrusted crown on his head. He collapsed onto the couch, panting. “Sorry ’bout that. I thought I’d lost it.”

  Oh, he certainly had.

  I smiled and motioned for the king to continue with his tale about the old king. Once he finally caught his breath, he did. “When I was twelve, King de Wolfe and his queen mysteriously died. Some say it was the plague. Others think the large ax protruding from Lady Maledetto’s head killed them.”

  A reasonable assumption.

  “After their deaths, Nigel took control of the crown.” The way he said it made me wonder if Nigel controlled more than the kingdom. The king added, “Then three years later, the kingdom in shambles due to Nigel’s lecherous deals, I became king.”

  I tilted my head to the side and sat down on the couch next to the king. “More to it than that, wasn’t there?”

  “Was there? I don’t really remember.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you shot Nigel. In the back.”

  The king shrugged. “Well, that might’ve happened too. But it was an accident ... We went for a hunt ... The gun went off ... No need for revenge.”

  “Revenge?” I paused to consider this. Was Cinderella’s murder an act of revenge? I suppose that made sense, but by who? Unless I failed Health for Villains 101, Nigel de Wolfe wasn’t the culprit. So who was?

  “With his dying breath, Nigel swore he’d come back from the grave for revenge.” The king shuddered, his grey beard jiggling with fear. “Until my poor Cindi’s death, I didn’t believe it.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “And you do now?”

  He nodded. “Who else would kill my precious daughter?” His voice lowered to a whisper, “Dru, that I could understand. The girl’s just plain stupid. But Cindi? She was an angel. Why, Nigel? Why?”

  “Nigel isn’t back from the dead, sir.”

  “How do you know?”

  At this point I figured it was fairly obvious. I mean, Nigel’s pelt was lying under our feet. I gestured to the floor. The king frowned. I motioned harder to the de Wolfe rug. The king frowned harder. Fuck it. “Never mind,” I said, rising from the couch.

  “Wait,” the king called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you seen my shotgun?” The king glanced around the room. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

  “Nope,” I lied with ease and left the room, whistling the theme song from Pinocchio.

  Chapter 32

  The ramifications of my white lie didn’t hit me until ten minutes later when Cook handed me a plate of scrambled eggs and half a loaf of buttered toast. I had to admit it; I told a lie. And it felt damn good. Maybe my curse was finally fading.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous RJ,” the queen said from the kitchen doorway, her red hair shining like fire in the morning light. “Do me a favor, dear. Sit down.”

  “Fudge,” I muttered, doing as the queen ordered. I guess my luck hadn’t changed after all. “Yes, my lady.”

  The queen swept into the room, her long skirt flapping back and forth against her slim calves. With a much too regal air for ten in the morning, she planted herself next to me at the table. I doubted she’d ever sat at Cook’s table, let alone entered the kitchen before. “Isn’t this nice,” she said, her face contorted with disgust.

  At the stove, Cook, a bull-faced woman with a heart of lard, frowned. I raised a fork full of fluffy yellow eggs in salute. “Great breakfast.” After eating Humpty Dumpty, a plate full of non-breathing eggs tasted like heaven. I smiled at the memory of Asia and her frying pan. Was it really less than a week since we met? A week since she’d boldly pilfered my curry noodles? A week since she walked into my life and turned it sunny side up?

  “I wanted to speak with you about my dear one,” the queen said, gaining my attention. Here it comes. The dreaded “don’t lock my daughter away in a tower” speech. If I’d heard it once, I’d heard it 651 times. Well, 652 times if you counted Tweedledum and her cuter sister Dee separately.

  I held up a hand. “Listen, I know what you’re going to say, and yes, I’d like nothing more than to lock Asia away—”

  “Asia?” The queen’s brow puckered, surprising with all the Botox injected into her unlined face. “What does she have to do with this?”

  “Excuse me?” My own forehead creased in confusion, not a good look on a villain, especially one with singed eyebrows and nine dents in his head. “You weren’t talking about your daughter?�
�

  “Of course not. I wanted to discuss Charming.”

  Oh God. I’d rather discuss the boil on Goldilocks’s butt. “Sure,” my treacherous mouth said. “What’s up?”

  Smiling, the queen tapped my arm. “Tomorrow’s the wedding.”

  As if I didn’t already know. There were white tents, white flowers, and white lace everywhere. So either a wedding or a Klan rally was about to take place. I’m not sure which one I’d enjoy less.

  “And I want everything to be perfect,” the queen continued. “That means having proper nuptials.”

  “Winslow lied. I never touched your daughter. At least not Dru,” I said, springing from the table. My frothy glass of milk toppled, landing in the queen’s lap. We both froze, me in fear, her in rage. Cook scrambled across the kitchen, a roll of paper towels in her hands.

  “Oh God.” I dabbed at the wetness with my sleeve. “I’m so sorry, my lady.”

  Rather than clouting me upside the head, the queen sucked in her thin lips and smiled. “Quite all right. Please sit back down.” Her face pinched from the sheer will of not exploding into a shrieking rage.

  I bit my lip to keep from grinning and sat down again while Cook cleaned up the spilled milk. I wasn’t about to cry over it, but the laughter in Cook’s eyes suggested she might.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” the queen said. “I want you to throw the prince a bachelor party. Tonight.”

  “What?!” I shook my head. I’d rather stab a fork through my eye. “Why? I don’t even like the guy.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s the least you can do. After all, you burned down his house.”

  “Did not. That was Asi—”

  “Let’s not play the blame game.” Again, the queen patted my arm. This time with enough force to leave a bruise. “Charming deserves a bachelor party, and since you’re his only friend, I expect you to give him one.”

  Friend? Ew. I wanted to argue, but my cursed brain refused to let me. The queen had asked me for a favor and now I was stuck. Stupid union.

  “It wasn’t easy for him growing up in the kingdom.” The queen shot me a vague smile. “Kids can be cruel. They called him names. Didn’t want to be his friend.”